


Where the Hurt Is

by undersomestairs



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Merlin Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersomestairs/pseuds/undersomestairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For this Kink Me! Merlin prompt: They were childhood/teenage sweethearts but Arthur's family moved away (because Uther detested Merlin but Arthur doesn't know this) and they promise to write. After Uther's death Arthur finds all the letters from Merlin he never received. All the time he thought Merlin had forgotten him. Arthur seeks him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Hurt Is

“How do you get married?” a five-year-old Arthur asks, looking across the dinner table at his father. Uther raises an eyebrow, not particularly in the mood to indulge his son’s endless curiosities. He’s never had patience for young children and their questions.

“You have to have someone to marry first,” he states, proving that he doesn’t know a damn thing about kids when he hopes it will just end there.

“I have someone to marry,” Arthur pipes up immediately. Morgana’s expression is amused but fond.

“Who would want to marry you?” she teases, and he pouts at her and whines her name in that little brother way.

“ _Morgana_ , I’m _serious_! I’m in love and I want to get married.”

Uther can’t help but chuckle at that. “Arthur, you’re too young to be in love. Stop being silly and eat your dinner.”

Morgana ignores him, too amused by Arthur’s frustration. “What’s her name?”

“Ew, it’s not a _girl_.” The boy promptly sticks out his tongue to show his distaste. “ _His_ name is Merlin, and he’s new to my class. I love him and we’re going to get married and get a dog. A big dog. Merlin wanted a little dog, but I said-”

“Arthur, you can’t marry another boy,” Uther cuts him off, knowing it might be another five minutes before he stops talking if he allows the story to continue. “You’re a boy, you marry a girl, and when you’re much older.”

Arthur frowns, a look of true disappointment clouding his features. “But… I want to marry _Merlin_.”

*

“Did you make any new friends at school today?” Hunith asks hopefully, though she tries not to expect too much. It was her son’s first day at a new school, and she knows how shy he can be.

“Yep,” Merlin answers simply, mostly focused on his after-school snack. Hunith blinks, watching him expectantly.

“Oh?” she prompts when he doesn’t decide to elaborate. “What’s their name?”

“Arthur,” the boy replies, his mouth full. “He’s my best friend now. He asked me to marry him, and gave me a biscuit.”

Hunith feels her eyebrows raise instinctively. “Did you say yes?” she wonders, amused as Merlin looks up at her with wide, innocent blue eyes and says,

“Well, yeah. It was a really good biscuit.”

*

The boys are seven when ten-year-old twins, Cedric and Cornelius, take an interest in Merlin. Suddenly it’s like they’re everywhere he goes, taunting him about how skinny he is and how big his ears are- except when Arthur is around. Arthur’s got genetics on his side, making him tall and well-built for his age, and his avid interest in football is an aid to the muscle department. Even being three years younger he could do a great deal of damage to the twins in a fight, and they know to stay away when he’s there.

But he’s not always there, and they’re getting better and better at closing in on Merlin when that’s the case. They push him around and knock him over, giving him a scraped knee that he later has to lie to Arthur and then to his parents about. They tease him so much one day that he goes into the boys’ bathroom afterwards and cries in a stall for fifteen minutes. He becomes anxious and moody and Arthur can’t figure out what’s wrong, but he’s terribly worried.

Then one day he catches them when they have Merlin cornered up against a fence. Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on at first- the thought of Merlin being bullied doesn’t cross his mind, because the idea that anyone would want to bully sweet, perfect _Merlin_ is just absurd- but then he sees Cornelius shove him and the anger hits him like a hurricane. He marches over, and he’s never punched anyone before, but when he reflects back on it later, he thinks he did a pretty good job. It gets them to run off, by any means, and then Arthur’s pulling Merlin close, and hugging him close, and apologizing for ever letting anything like that happen to him, because now he knows what’s been bothering the boy, and he’s filled with guilt for not stopping it sooner. Merlin holds onto him just as tightly, assuring Arthur that he doesn’t blame him, and that he’s just grateful that they’ll leave him alone now.

They stand like until Merlin stops trembling, but still don’t let go. There’s an unexplainable comfort that they’re only able to find in each other, and they want to hang on just a little bit longer.

*

Merlin’s father passes away when he and Arthur are eleven. They’re still as inseparable as they have been since the day they met, despite Uther using most of his parental effort (not that that’s a lot) trying to push Arthur towards more rough and athletic friends with wealthier families, so naturally Arthur is right next to Merlin throughout the boy’s grieving, holding his hand and often crying right along with him. The man had been much like a father to him too, after all. Hunith catches them passed out in each other’s arms more than once, managing a small smile through her tears.

It’s never awkward when they wake up like this, though Merlin suspects it probably should be. He doesn’t know if friends are supposed to be as clingy and affectionate as he and Arthur are. Sure, they’re best mates, but it always feels like something more than that. Especially when Arthur fixes him with a small, sleepy smile, and Merlin’s heart does flip flops, and he thinks he’d be quite content if they stayed wrapped up in each other forever.

*

It soon gets worse than just the loss of Merlin’s father, as it also means a loss of income, and therefore no chance that they’ll be able to continue affording to send Merlin to public school. It takes a while for it to sink in that this means the boys will be sent to different schools, and that night they cry over more than the loss of a loved one.

Arthur wonders later if it isn’t for the best that Merlin is at a different school. He sees multiple cases of best friends fighting because someone isn’t cool enough and the judgment of their peers is so pressing that it drives them apart. The idea of anything similar happening to him and Merlin makes him sick to his stomach, and he is glad that what they have can’t be touched.

*

It isn’t as if they’ve never had urges before. They’ve pressed against each other in the dark while sleeping over at each other’s houses, both clad in thin pajamas and craving the warmth and solid feel of the other. But as they near their teen years, they’re hyperaware of sex and that it’s all anyone _ever_ talks about and most of all they can ever think about. They learn how to touch themselves in just the way they want to be touched, which is satisfying for a while, but eventually starts to feel lacking.

Neither of them have much experience with kissing. They shared a few pecks when they were five and planning the wedding that Arthur insisted they have to rebel against the oppressive (Morgana had taught him that word) rule of his father. Planning the locations of their future summer homes could only amuse them for so long, however, before Merlin suggested they pretend they were dinosaurs, and then wedding bells were not nearly as important to Arthur as getting to be the T-Rex (which was cool with Merlin, who wanted to be a raptor anyway).

Now they’re both eager to find a pair of lips that fit theirs, and when Arthur suggests one afternoon that they experiment with it together, there is no hesitation before Merlin agrees. Who better to try kissing with than his best friend, the person who means more to him than anyone else?

They’re both at Merlin’s, as Arthur spends a few hours there after school almost every day. His father works late, so as long as he doesn’t get hurt or let it slip where he’s been, his nanny can drop him off so that he can have time with the best friend his father doesn’t quite approve of and she can do whatever the hell she wants and will still end up paid for the hours. It’s a pretty sweet deal for the both of them. Especially now for Arthur, who locks Merlin’s door behind them and quickly joins his friend on the bed. They stare at each other for a moment, slowly leaning in and closing their eyes when their lips touch. Arthur shuffles closer and moves his lips against Merlin’s, whose hands come up to gently cup his face. Merlin’s tongue tentatively flicks out to meet his, just barely, and he tastes so nice, and Arthur decides that this kissing thing is quite spectacular and should definitely be repeated on a regular basis.

*

By the time they hit fifteen, they’re fully knowledgeable about and comfortable with each other’s bodies. They share kisses often, have nakedly explored one another on more than one occasion, and they jerk each other off on their weekly sleepover nights (and sometimes during the afternoons, if they’ve been feeling particularly needy or Merlin’s mum goes out).

They’re spooned together on Merlin’s bed on one such night, Merlin holding onto the arm that’s draped over him. They’re both enjoying the warmth and the closeness and the fuzzy post-orgasm feel, and Merlin just barely works up the nerve to breathe out, “Arthur?”

“Hmm?” Arthur responds tiredly, snuggling just a bit closer. Merlin can’t help but smile, playing with the blonde’s fingers.

“Are we… y’know… like, boyfriends?” he asks timidly, feeling relieved when the question doesn’t cause Arthur to tense up.

“’Course we are, where’ve you been?” Arthur replies easily, and Merlin chuckles, because it’s very Arthur to have decided such a thing and not thought to mention it. “Why? Do you not want to be boyfriends?”

“No, no, I do,” Merlin assures quickly, and the arm around him tightens.

“Good,” Arthur murmurs against his ear. “’Cause I’d have to fight for you if you didn’t.”

Merlin can’t fight the grin off his face. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been so happy.

*

Uther Pendragon is most definitely _not_ happy. Sure, he never really approved of Merlin- the boy was scrawny and clumsy and sometimes wore an expression that made him look a bit dumb, not to mention his ridiculous _ears_ , surely Arthur could find more genetically well off friends- but the boy, and Arthur’s seeming fascination with him, had only been a minor issue. They were children, and children do silly things that they then later grow out of. But as Arthur grows and Merlin stays right where he is in Arthur’s life, Uther begins to worry. He feels hopeful when the odd boy’s father passes (and hardly spares a second to think of how awful that sounds) because now Arthur won’t see him at school every day and since he’s just a child still, he’ll surely, _surely_ look for more convenient friends.

But he doesn’t. He still wants to have a sleepover with Merlin every weekend, the interest never waning. Uther suspects foul play, wonders if Arthur is somehow still getting to see Merlin during the week- that nanny of his never seemed all that trustworthy- but then his work draws him back in and he thinks, well, Arthur’s still a child, he can’t stay infatuated forever.

But he does. Even when Uther makes the ridiculous declaration that Merlin can’t stay over on the weekends anymore, which doesn’t end up making a difference because apparently Merlin’s mother is some sort of saint who doesn’t mind having Arthur impose on her every single weekend (and more, if the nanny is in fact assisting their friendship) for years.

And then, for Arthur’s fifteenth birthday, the only person he wants to have over is Merlin. Uther doesn’t have the heart to deny his wish on his birthday, one of the few days of the year he takes off from work, and the more he watches them, the more he realizes that Merlin is a major threat. The way Arthur always stands a little too close, his touch lingering a little too long, sends a spike of fear through Uther. Then he sees the way they look at each other, and fuck that, he will _not_ stand to watch some silly little boy turn his only son gay. He’s worked too bloody hard to make his life be everything he could ever want, and then in comes _Mer_ lin, corrupting Arthur’s chance at a respectable life and Uther’s chance of passing on the Pendragon name. Ruining all he had worked for, it seems, and the hatred for this boy burns in his chest.

Arthur only seems more distracted and dreamy-eyed in the following months, and summer starts and Morgana goes off to university and Uther gets an idea. His company is opening a new branch in America that would benefit from his overseeing presence. Most of Morgana’s things are packed up anyway, so it wouldn’t be too hard to pack up everything else. They could just _move_ , and Merlin wouldn’t have a chance. They’d be on completely different continents, a dozen states and an ocean between them, with an eight hour time difference and a specifically selected home phone plan that won’t include international calls.

 _It’s perfect,_ he thinks, and puts his plan into place almost immediately.

*

It’s not fair, and Arthur isn’t hesitant to scream this at his father. It’s not fair, and Uther must be joking, and how can he sabotage his life this way? The entire time, the thing repeating in his mind is _Merlin, Merlin, oh god, Merlin._ How is he going to survive without seeing Merlin? Without even talking to him? How is he possibly going to be able to say _goodbye_ to _Merlin_? His father doesn’t understand what he’s doing.

He pleads, and tries to explain. “Let me stay. Hunith will let me live with them until I go to university. Please, I _love_ Merlin, you can’t just make it so I’ll never see him.” It’s not how he planned to come out to his father, but he’s desperate.

“You don’t know what love is,” Uther growls, making it clear how much he doesn’t want to hear any more as he turns away. “There are boxes in the hallway. Start packing tonight.”

Arthur watches him leave, angry and despairing tears blurring his vision. Uther shuts the door between them, and Arthur storms out of the house almost immediately. He sucks in a deep breath, wipes his eyes, and begins to run.

*

“Merlin! Arthur’s here!”

Merlin looks up from his book, puzzled. Arthur left two hours prior, and he’s not supposed to come over again until the next day to spend the night. He stands just as Arthur opens his bedroom door, and only grows more confused as he takes in his boyfriend’s appearance.

“Did you… run here?” he wonders, eyeing the sweat stains and overall disheveled appearance. Arthur nods, silently perching at the edge of his bed. He has yet to meet Merlin’s gaze, and something dark and anxious twists in Merlin’s chest.

“I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.” Merlin sits cross-legged at his side, rubbing his thigh to try and soothe his tension. “Tell me.”

“I don’t want to,” Arthur states after a moment. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

His evasiveness feeds Merlin’s anxiety. In the absence of evidence to prove otherwise, people will always assume the worst, and his mind conjures images of betrayal. “Arthur? Did you do something… bad?”

Arthur’s eyes finally flick up to meet his, and he shakes his head. “It isn’t me. I swear it isn’t me, Merlin, and I _tried_ …” He trails off, and Merlin bites at his lower lip.

“Just tell me, please?” he finally requests when Arthur doesn’t relinquish any more information. “It can’t be that bad. You’ll feel better once you get it off your chest.”

Arthur shakes his head furiously. “It can’t…” He huffs, feeling his eyes get teary again as the hopeless frustration washes over him. “I’m moving.”

“You’re moving,” Merlin repeats, staring. “Okay. Okay, that’s not so bad. We won’t get to see each other as often, but we can make it. We can talk on the phone every day, and take trains to see each other on holidays, and on some weekends. It… It won’t be ideal, but we can make it, right? We can stay together.”

“It’s not… We’re moving to the states, Merlin. California. Nearly nine thousand kilometers away. We won’t just get to take a train to see each other. We won’t get to see each other at all. I won’t even be able to call you.” He rubs his eyes, not bothering to feel ashamed when he sniffles.

“Oh,” is all Merlin can say, not having anything else to offer. He can’t quite wrap his mind around it- Arthur’s been by his side for ten years, and is it really even possible for him to go so far away? Could they exist like that? His brain blocks the idea instinctively, desperately wanting to protect him from the crippling misery, leaving him unable to make sense of it. They both sit quietly together until Arthur finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want to forget,” he says, staring down at his hands. “I’ve heard… I don’t want to forget what you smell like. How your voice sounds. How you look when you’re curious, or laughing, or when you just smile at me, that smile that’s just for me. I’m fucking terrified that it’ll all get blurry in my mind, and I won’t be able to picture it. That I’ll lose pieces of you, bit by bit, every year that goes by.”

He hears Merlin’s breath hitch and dares to look up, seeing the tears rolling down his boyfriend’s cheeks. Merlin’s lip is quivering as he meets Arthur’s eyes, and he’s quickly Arthur’s lap, wrapped up in his arms. They grieve together, trying to handle the weight of the news.

“You won’t forget,” Merlin whispers when they’ve calmed down a bit, still holding onto each other for dear life. “We’ll cherish the time we have left. Take lots of pictures, so you won’t have to forget anything. And we’ll write. And you’ll come visit me, as soon as you can. When you’re eighteen you can move back here and we can get a cozy little house with a big dog. Remember when we talked about that?”

Arthur chuckles, and it’s a sad sound. “We were five years old.”

“I still want it.” Merlin hugs him tightly, his fingers sifting through the blonde hair soothingly. “It’ll be okay, Arthur. We’ll make it okay,” he promises, trying to believe it himself.

*

The house is big and unfamiliar. Arthur wanders around, trying to get a feel for the place and avoid the afternoon heat outside. He doesn’t want to unpack any more of his things- doesn’t want to feel as though he _lives_ here now. He hasn’t seen Merlin in days, and everything about it feels wrong. He misses his kisses, his touch- he finds he can’t even get himself off, because it only makes him think of Merlin’s hand around his cock and then it feels as though something heavy and painful has settled in his stomach.

Bored with exploring, he retreats to his room and finds a pen and paper. He wrote to Merlin the day they arrived, and hasn’t really expected a reply, as it’s only been two days, but he’s still anxiously waiting to see Merlin’s handwriting. He decides to write again anyway, hoping it will cheer him up some.

*

_  
**24 July 1995**   
_

_Dear Merlin,_

_I’ve seen every inch of this house now, and I hate it. You would love it, I’m sure- so much open space, and windows all over the place. And we’re on a hill, so you walk in on the second floor, can you believe it? I suppose I wouldn’t hate it so much if you were here. You could pick out some ridiculous polka-dotted curtains and hang up all sorts of odd paintings and we could be blissfully happy._

_I just wrote you the other day and not much has changed, so I’ll keep this letter brief. I miss you terribly, and can’t wait to hear back from you. I’ve been double-checking that I have the right return address written to make sure you can reply properly, so please do, as soon as you can. Never mind how desperate that sounds._

_Hope you’re doing alright. Give my love to your mum._

_Love you,  
Arthur_

*

_  
**3 August 1995**   
_

_Dear Merlin,_

_It’s been ten days since I mailed you my first letter, and still haven’t heard back. I’m sure I put the right stamps on. Are you okay? Have you just been busy? I’m a bit worried._

_Please write back soon._

_Love and miss you,  
Arthur_

*

_  
**2 February 1996**   
_

_Merlin,_

_I know it’s getting pointless to send you letters. It’s been six months now, after all. Your mum would have contacted me by now if something had happened to you, I know that, and there’s no way I have the wrong address, or that you don’t have mine. You would know by now if you weren’t writing it correctly or using the proper postage. You just haven’t written to me._

_I wish you would have said something, if you hadn’t wanted to make the long distance thing work, rather than having me keep hoping all this time. I was sure it meant more to you than this. It still doesn’t make sense._

_I won’t write anymore._

_Arthur_

*

He folds the letter quickly, slipping it into the addressed envelope. He holds it against his chest as he carries it to the mailbox, where he has slipped letter after letter, just praying that he’ll find something from Merlin when he sifts through the envelopes that his father brings in on his way home from work, but nothing ever comes. His hope has dwindled until he’s given up, and he fights the urge to punch the side of the mailbox once the letter has slipped out of his fingers and through the slot, full of hopeless frustration.

He doesn’t want to give up, wants to keep writing until he hears back, but he knows he’s only torturing himself. He can cling to the idea of Merlin as long as he wants, but it won’t change anything. Merlin has forgotten about him already.

***

_Fifteen years later._

“Are you here alone, sweetheart?”

Arthur can’t think of anything he wants to do more at this moment than to not acknowledge the man with the bad pick up line, who is breathing down his neck and obviously not planning to go away without a response. He reeks of alcohol (and Arthur thought _he_ got an early start) and probably won’t respond well to ridicule, and Arthur doesn’t feel like being involved in a bar fight tonight.

He glances up, having to hold back a snort when he sees the Ed Hardy t-shirt and nearly orange fake tan, half-expecting a perpetual fist pump to accompany the look. He can immediately see where he came from- a small group of guys looking equally trashed and orange.

“I had certainly hoped so,” he replies, putting on his best cheery smile, which any sober individual would have recognized as half-mocking. “Are those your friends over there?”

The guy turns, as if he forgot they were there, giving Arthur the opportunity to roll his eyes. “Yeah. We’ve been here since noon. Got our unemployment checks today, came out to celebrate.” He grins as though this is something to be proud of, and Arthur has to work very hard to resist responding with something very obviously disgusted and rude (though probably well-deserved).

“Delightful,” he says instead, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but the man still doesn’t seem to notice his disdain.

“Do you have an accent? Are you from England or something? _Mate?_ ” He giggles, and Arthur reconsiders his earlier desire to not end up punching someone before the night was up. “I think accents are hot.”

“Do you now?” He takes a sip of his drink, noticing how the man’s eyes appraise him, and his smug, stupid grin turns a bit lustful. Arthur’s eyes flick to his crotch, wondering how big his dick is, and what he’d sound like if they fucked, and if douchebags give good head. Then he thinks, _what is **wrong** with me?_ and feels slightly sick to his stomach.

The man starts to run his hand up Arthur’s arm, and Arthur’s never felt so relieved to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. It’s funny how eager he is to answer the call, when just twenty minutes before he was ignoring the repeated buzzings of the device. “I’ve got to take this,” he mutters, abandoning his drink and trying not to entertain more pathetically desperate thoughts. He moves towards the door, seeing his sister’s name on the caller I.D. and accepting just as he’s stepped outside.

“Hey, Morgana.”

He tries to think of how he might express his gratitude for her excellent timing, despite it being hideously late for her in London, but she skips the pleasantries and just says, “It’s Uther.”

*

The missed calls had been from the hospital, who had called Morgana when they failed to get in touch with him. They had tried to get in touch with him from the moment his father had been brought in, and were still trying twenty minutes later when the official time of Uther Pendragon’s death was recorded in black pen, and he became just another corpse for the orderlies to deal with.

Arthur can’t picture it, even as Morgana relays the information to him. His father is gone, virtually without warning. The man who had always appeared to be so powerful and intimidating has been brought down by too many late nights eating fatty takeaway in his office and the overbearing stress that he could never truly let go of. The thoughts and emotions swirl around in Arthur’s head, the ability to make sense of any of it escaping his grasp as it doesn’t feel real yet. He figures that this is why he doesn’t feel a great amount of loss, because he can’t yet face that it’s really happened, that he’ll never see Uther alive again. He waits for it to sink in, waits for the pain.

Morgana flies out to help him handle everything, and they hug when he greets her at the airport. He’s missed his big sister, hasn’t seen her in years, and though she looks completely knackered from the eleven hour flight, he can tell she’s happy to see him. He takes comfort in this, the family he has left, as this situation has made him realize just how few true friends he has. Sure, he’s got mates from work, who he sometimes hangs out with on the weekends or works out at the gym with. But with such a big event going on, he realizes he has no one to call about things like this, serious life things that he doesn’t quite know how to deal with and could use a close friend, but doesn’t have any. It depresses him more than anything has in this whole mess so far.

They schedule the funeral, and they both dress in expensive black clothing and give short, prepared speeches and accept all of the apologies and well wishes graciously with solemn faces. It’s a very formal affair, which is what their father would have wanted. They both know Uther truly would have just preferred to not die, to never have to lose his control over everything and let someone take his position.

The pain he’s expecting still doesn’t come, even as Arthur sees Uther’s pale, frozen face in the open casket, or as people give their speeches on how Uther was so hard-working and respected, or as they lower the coffin into the ground. Part of him is sad to see his father go, but it mostly comes from his imaginings of how things could have been if his mother hadn’t died, if his father hadn’t thrown himself head-first into his work and never looked back- if they’d been a normal, happy family with lots of love and fond memories. When he mourns, it’s for the absence of those more than anything else. He realizes that he’s not sure he really even loves his father, never got a real chance to with Uther being so rarely available for any sort of bonding, and that’s what tears him up inside.

*

He still hates his father’s house. It always makes him feel as though he’s fifteen again- resentful, alone, trying to ignore and finally having to face the fact that he’s been abandoned by his young love. Seeing his old room floods him with memories of pouring over photographs of the two of them, him and _Merlin_ , the person he planned to return to as soon as he turned eighteen and was free of his father’s rule. In the end, he was the reason Arthur stayed- nothing left for him in his home country if Merlin had decided he didn’t want him.

The pain had dulled over the years, gained maturity easing teen angst and new experiences helping fade old memories. He told himself he welcomed forgetting, though a part of him would feel the sharp sting every time he tried to recall something about Merlin and realized he couldn’t. Now he finds the box left behind, full of the pictures he had hidden away so as not to keep obsessing over a lost cause. He’s reminded of Merlin’s gangly limbs and abnormally large ears and how breathtakingly _beautiful_ he was, and he can’t help but smile, fond and a little heartbroken (which he blames on being so raw and emotionally confused already, because he’s starting to feel like he’s being way too much of a wuss lately and doesn’t want it to be completely his fault).

*

He _really_ doesn’t want to go through Uther’s belongings, but they can’t very well sell the house with all of his stuff still inside, and Morgana objects to simply tossing it all out when there might be things of value, sentimental or otherwise. She goes through the clothes while he appraises the knick knacks and furniture, half-expecting Uther to burst through the door and demand they get their hands off his things right this instant. The piles build up- what to throw away, what to put up for auction, what they want to keep- and finally the bedroom is cleared out of everything but a few boxes left in the closet.

He sits on the plush carpet next to Morgana and pulls a box towards him, wrestling with the tape to get inside. It seems like there are never-ending layers keeping it closed, and he finally reaches for the box cutter to slice through it, letting out a quiet “Aha!” of triumph when he’s able to pull the flaps apart. He sees his name first, drawn to the familiar combination of letters written across the front of every envelope. He doesn’t need to see the name in the upper left-hand corner of each one to recognize the scrawl, but it’s still there, in case he ever could have forgotten- _Merlin Emrys_.

“Are those… I thought you said he never wrote you back?” Morgana picks up an envelope to inspect it further and sees that it’s still sealed, and Arthur’s thoughts sort themselves out at the same time she realizes what must have happened. “Oh no,” she breathes. “He didn’t.” And he knows she’s not talking about Merlin anymore.

“Apparently he did,” Arthur replies gruffly, sifting through the letters. The box is full of them, probably fifty envelopes, if not more- at least one for every sadly hopeful and lonely letter Arthur sent him. He grabs for one randomly, dating three weeks after he arrived in the states, and rips the seal to get the letter out and open.

_  
**14 August 2010**   
_

_Arthur,_

_I’ve received three of your letters so far, and it still sounds like you none of mine have reached you. I know the last two have had more than enough stamps and it can’t take that long if I’ve been getting yours, so I’ve been completely paranoid about them getting lost in the mail and I’ve probably been driving Mum crazy ranting about it._

_Anyway, I got my history test back, and it’s official. I don’t study nearly as well on my own as I do with you here helping me. You moving has left me horny, anxious, slightly depressed, and now in danger of failing out of school. Are you eighteen yet?_

_I’m joking, of course. At least mostly. I’m doing okay, even if I’m missing you terribly. It’ll be easier when you start getting my letters and we can actually have conversations. And I’ll study harder for my next test, I promise._

_I love you, Arthur._

_Yours,  
Merlin_

He knows Morgana is reading over his shoulder, but it still makes him jump when she lays her hand on his back. “Why don’t we call it a day?” she suggests, and he nods dumbly, slipping the paper back into its envelope and closing the box back up. His brain is foggy as he somehow manages to drive them back to his flat in one piece, and he cradles the box against his chest all the way to his bedroom. Morgana stops on the way to the guest room, watching him with concern from the doorway.

“Will you be alright, Arthur?”

He nods, already emptying the box onto his bed. “I’m fine.” His tone is detached and she sighs, wishing she’d seen her brother more than a handful of times in the past fifteen years, because then she might know him well enough to help him.

“Just come and get me if you need me, alright?” she offers, and he gives a noncommittal nod. She watches him for a moment before continuing down the hall, leaving him to spend hours reading and rereading every letter until the words all blur together and he passes out from exhaustion in the early hours of the morning.

*

_  
**19 November 1995**   
_

_Arthur,_

_Last night I had a dream that I got one of your letters and you had just got all of mine, and I was so relieved. I almost forgot when I woke up that it wasn’t real. I’m always waiting for your letters, and every time I hope you got mine. I think that maybe they’ve just been getting lost in the mail somewhere, but soon they’ll be found and they’ll realize what happened and send them to you as soon as possible. I imagine it all the time, because I want it so badly. You don’t know how much I miss you, and I have no way of telling you, and it’s making me crazy. And I know you’re upset too, even if you still sound hopeful in your letters._

_I don’t know what else to say, other than I love you, and I pray you’ll stay hopeful._

_Merlin_

*

_  
**10 February 1996**   
_

_Arthur,_

_Must’ve started a dozen letters by now, but can’t figure out the right words. I don’t know that there are any words. It makes me want to scream that I have no way of telling you that I haven’t given up, I’ve been trying and fucking trying and I’m right here, Arthur. I still miss you and want you more than ever, and now I won’t even have your letters to look forward to, even if it hurts every time I open them and you think I haven’t written to you._

_I want you to get all my letters. I want you to write to me and say that it was all some big mix-up, and you knew I’d never abandon you like that, and now they’ve got it all sorted out and we can write back and forth and stay close that way, like we planned. But there’s no point._

_Merlin_

*

_  
**4 March 1996**   
_

_Mum made me go to therapy. Says she’s worried about me. The guy told me I shouldn’t write to you anymore. Something about letting go and moving on. But Mum seems to think it’s a good idea, says it would be for the best, and hid the stamps. Still had this one in my desk, though, so I’m able to send this last letter._

_Goodbye, Arthur._

*

Morgana does most of the work to get the rest of the house ready to sell, as she can’t imagine what Arthur might feel towards Uther right now and therefore doesn’t trust him not to destroy their father’s things on purpose. She’s right to do so- the anger is bubbling under Arthur’s skin, the betrayal sharp and increasingly painful as the guilt for feeling such animosity for his deceased father fades, because he can’t _believe_ Uther had done that. The man who had forced him to move, he can only assume now was purposeful to separate him and Merlin, and then watched as he ached and pined, knowing he was responsible. Knowing that Arthur was miserable, knowing and not caring. And if he truly didn’t care, if Arthur’s happiness meant so little to him, then Arthur sees no reason to care either.

Morgana’s nothing if not efficient, and everything is auctioned off at the end of the week. Everything that wasn’t sold is put in boxes and stacked up in Arthur’s apartment, though he doesn’t know that he’ll ever want to use it. He’s satisfied as he sees the For Sale sign stuck in the ground, because now it’s over, and he doesn’t have to see that bloody house ever again.

His sister sticks around for a few days, and he enjoys having her company, even if they don’t interact too much. She’s someone to watch movies and have meals with, and to just be there, her presence providing comfort as he reads Merlin’s letters again and again. He looks up from one to watch her as she surfs the web for a plane ticket, having finally made a decision.

“I’m coming with you.”

She meets his gaze and blinks, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m flying back with you,” he explains, gesturing to the laptop in front of her. “Get two tickets, I’ll reimburse you.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “What’s this about?” He catches her glance to the letter still clutched in his hands.

“I’m going to look for him.” He ignores the slow raise of her eyebrows. He’s made up his mind, and that’s that. “You might as well get both tickets at once. Unless you don’t want to sit next to me?”

“Arthur…” She sighs, and he most certainly doesn’t appreciate the pity he sees on her face. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? What if you can’t even find him?”

“Then I’ll use my connections. Your boyfriend’s a policeman; surely he can track down an address or a phone number? That’s all I’ll need.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound legal. Even if you were to find him, it’s been _fifteen years_. What would you even say to him? Think about this,” she pleads, but she can already see the resolve on his face.

“I’m going. I’ll get the ticket on my own, if you won’t.” He leans back against the couch cushions, his expression slowly changing to something softer, more wistful. “I have to find him. Have to explain, and just… see him again.”

“He might not be the same Merlin you knew,” she warns, feeling the niggling worry as she sees her brother making himself vulnerable again. “Fifteen years can change a person.”

Arthur shakes his head, stubborn. “Merlin wouldn’t change,” he insists, and even he knows what a risk he’s taking. He’s hardly able to deal with the pressure he’s already under, and he’s aware of how stupid it is to set himself up for more stress. As he stares down at Merlin’s handwriting, he knows he can’t help it. “So do I need to get my own ticket or what?”

“No,” she mutters, changing her search to look for two tickets. “You’re sure about this?” she asks, and her tone conveys what she wants to say, _I really don’t think you should go._ Arthur simply nods, firm in his decision.

“I’m sure.”

*

Arthur is jet-lagged and out of it, as he’s never been good at getting any sleep on planes, but he’s still able to tell within the first ten minutes of being in Morgana’s flat that her live-in boyfriend is a very nice man, and is therefore certain that he will be willing aide him out with his noble quest to find Merlin. He is disappointed when he explains to Leon what he needs, and the man frowns, obviously not in support of Arthur’s plan.

“I don’t know about that, Arthur,” he says, looking wary. “There are privacy issues, we can’t just give away people’s information.”

“But it’s not just any person, it’s _Merlin_. He wouldn’t mind, I know it. Please, for the sake of true love?” he begs, scowling when Morgana makes a very disapproving noise. “Fine, for the sake of old friendship, long lost?” He clasps his hands together as a desperate plea, and in his sleep-deprived mind, this is not at all overly dramatic. Morgana’s eye rolling implies that she believes differently, but who asked her, anyway.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Leon concedes, still seeming very unsure, but Arthur takes it as a victory. “It might take a few days, we can’t use all of our resources on this. There are other priorities.”

“I understand,” Arthur assures quickly, and he does, even if he hopes that they won’t have too many of those top priority situations before his issue is addressed. He stands from the sofa, clapping Leon on the shoulder and giving a, “Thank you, really,” before turning his attention to his sister. “Can I borrow your car tomorrow?”

“Why?” she asks, her eyes narrowing, but it’s not an outright no, which encourages him.

“Well I can’t just sit around here waiting, can I? I might as well follow what leads I’ve got. I know where they lived, I can see if his mother’s still there.”

“You’ve never driven anything other than an American car, Arthur. You’re used to driving on the other side of the road.”

Arthur scoffs, answering with a haughty, “how hard can it be?”

*

It’s quite hard, he discovers, as he itches with the urge to be on the other side of the road. It’s true, while he was driven around enough growing up, he’s never actually driven here himself, and it’s been fifteen years since he’s been in a car moving forward in a left lane when it isn’t on a one-way street. He very nearly swerves over a few times, when he starts thinking about something else for a moment and then panics and thinks _I should be over there!_ before remembering that he’s right where he’s supposed to be, even if it feels all kinds of wrong.

It takes about three hours to reach the city where he used to live, and he only gets a little bit lost before things start to look really familiar and he knows he’s nearing Merlin’s flat, which might not even be _Merlin’s_ flat anymore. He’s worried he might not recognize it, but then he does, immediately. He parks the car- horribly, but what does that matter when he’s finally knocking on Merlin’s door again- and he waits for an answer, which finally comes in the shape of a blonde woman he doesn’t recognize.

He stares at her before blurting out a dumb, “I don’t know you,” realizing what kind of an impression he’s giving and hurrying to apologize. “Sorry, I’m sorry, just… Does Hunith live here? Hunith Emrys?”

She looks at him in that way that says _I’m judging you right now_ , but he ignores it, feeling his hope plummet when she shakes her head. “I don’t know a Hunith.”

“You’re… you’re sure?” he asks weakly, and he knows she must think he’s an absolute nutter, but he’s desperate. “She used to live here, her and her son.”

“I’ve lived here for twelve years now,” she tells him. “And I don’t know anyone named Hunith.”

He nods slowly, sighing as he thinks _there goes my lead_. He doesn’t want to have to wait for days until whoever works with Leon can maybe find him a phone number. He realizes how much he’d been banking on this trip yielding some sort of result. “Thank you for your time,” he says, trudging back towards his car. He pauses when he sees a familiar face- Merlin’s neighbor, who apparently still lives next door because he’s walking out with a light jacket wrapped around him. Arthur racks his memory for a name and can’t come up with one, but he definitely remembers the man, so he jogs over to him with an, “Excuse me! Excuse me, sir.”

The man looks at him, raising a very intimidating eyebrow. He’s older than Arthur remembers- obviously, it’s been fifteen years- but there’s no mistaking it’s the same person. “Can I help you with something?”

“I hope so. Do you remember Hunith Emrys? The woman who used to live here?” He points to the door he’d just walked away from and the man eyes it before giving a slow nod. Arthur feels the hope stir within him once again.

“I remember.” He looks Arthur up and down. “She had a son who used to help me with my electronics.”

“That’s Merlin!”

“Yes, Merlin. They moved away years ago. Hunith bought a flat on Bishopstoke. We exchanged Christmas cards the first few years… I don’t know if either of them would still be there.”

“I might as well try,” Arthur reasons, feeling very grateful for his stroke of luck and beginning to suspect that maybe the universe really _wants_ him to find Merlin, like it’s their destiny to be reunited after all these years. “Bishopstoke, you said?”

The man nods, a hint of recognition crossing his face. “You were Merlin’s friend, weren’t you? The blonde boy.”

“Yes, my name’s Arthur. I haven’t seen Merlin in… well, in a very long time,” he amends, saving the man- _Gaius!_ the name finally comes to him- the long story. “I’m hoping to find him again. Thank you so much for your help, Gaius.”

“Good luck to you, Arthur.” He smiles and continues down the sidewalk, and Arthur scrambles into the car so he can program Bishopstoke into Morgana’s Sat Nav.

It takes him about ten minutes to get there and he’s fully pumped up until reality crashes down ( _ **again** , it really needs to stop doing that_) as he realizes he still doesn’t know which of the houses on the court might be Hunith’s, if she lives in any of them at all. He parks on the street and gets out, looking around the houses as if one of them will give him the answer he’s looking for, but they all just stare blankly back at him.

He’s beginning to work up the courage to start knocking on doors at random when his attention is drawn to a woman turning the corner onto the opposite side of the court, whose dark hair and thin frame seem very familiar. He can’t seem to get a good enough look at her face to tell if it’s Hunith, but he crosses the road towards her anyway as she unlocks the door of one of the smaller homes.

“Hunith?” he calls impulsively, and he feels like the winds been knocked out of him when she turns and it really is _her_. He can only stare dumbly at her, taking in the graying hair and wrinkling skin that are the only major changes to what is definitely Hunith, but it seems to be enough for her to recognize him.

“… Arthur?” She says his name as though she doesn’t fully believe it herself, and the corners of his lips slowly lift into a wide smile as he nods. He steps forward and hugs her, relieved that he’s finally found a true connection to Merlin, and almost surprised by how good it feels to see her again. She had been more of a parent to him than anyone else, and he hadn’t realized just how much he missed her.

“It’s so good to see you,” he murmurs, and she gently pushes him back to get a good look at him, reaching up to lightly touch the facial hair that’s accumulated after a week of not bothering to shave.

“You’re all grown up,” she says, awed, as if she didn’t expect him to ever get older. He smiles and nods, and feels what he thinks might be pride as she seems happy with what she sees. “Can you come in?”

“Of course.” It takes him a moment to remember to ask, “Is Merlin here, by any chance?”

“I’m afraid not. He lives in London now, hasn’t been back here in months. I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks, to be honest. I was going to call him this weekend to see how he’s doing.” She ushers him into a kitchen, pulling out a chair at a small table. “Sit, sit, I’ll make you lunch. You haven’t eaten?”

He shakes his head and she smiles, moving around to find something for him to eat. “He lives in London?” he repeats, pleased with this new bit of information. “That’s where I’m staying, with Morgana.”

“How long have you been back?”

“Flew in yesterday. Took Morgana’s car first thing this morning to find your old house, and I was lucky enough to see Gaius. He told me you’d be around here.” He leaves out his destiny theories so as not to seem mental. “I was really hoping you’d be able to tell me how to find him.”

“You just got back and you’re already looking for Merlin?” He can’t figure out why she seems surprised, but he reasons that he doesn’t actually have _I miss Merlin I want Merlin I need to find Merlin_ written on his forehead, as much as it may feel like it.

“He’s the whole reason I came back,” he admits, launching into the full story. She shakes her head once he’s finished, staring blankly.

“I can’t believe he did that.”

“It’s… difficult, to know I’ve lost fifteen years with Merlin because of it. I really want a chance to explain. I read all his letters. He’s okay, right?” he asks, thinking back to the last letter. “Did the therapy help?”

“After a while. It was very hard for him to let go. He really loved you, Arthur,” she tells him, and the past tense stings a little.

“I still really love him.” She bites at her bottom lip and he looks down at his hands. “I mean, I know that’s a dumb thing to say, since I don’t really _know_ him anymore, it’s been so long and all. But I love what I remember, and if he’s anything like that still, then maybe we could just _try_ …” He trails off, and he can hear the desperation in his own voice and see the pity in Hunith’s eyes when he looks at her.

“Merlin’s living with someone now.” Her voice is gentle, like she wishes she didn’t have to tell him but knows it wouldn’t be right to let him keep hoping for something that will only hurt him. He lets it sink in, the thought that Merlin has moved on. _Of course_ Merlin’s moved on, because it’s been fifteen years, and if he hadn’t been able to move on and find happiness with someone else, then that would just make him sad and pathetic and emotionally stilted, like Arthur.

“That’s okay,” he replies weakly, trying to convince himself that he means it. “It would still mean a lot to me if I could see him. We had a strong friendship for a long time, so maybe some of that could be salvaged, if nothing else.” She still looks concerned, and he chuckles. “I promise not to sabotage what he has. If he’s happy… that’s all I could want for him.”

“Oh, of course I didn’t think… I know you wouldn’t do something like that.” She presents him with a plate full of food and a fork, telling him to just relax and eat. “I’ll write down Merlin’s phone number for you. Were you planning to just call him?”

“I was sort of hoping to surprise him, actually.” A paranoid part of him is afraid that Merlin will say he doesn’t want to see him if he just calls, and Arthur _needs_ to see him. Needs to see how he’s aged, if he ever grew into his ears (he hopes not), if he smiles the same way, sounds like Arthur remembers him, likes to wear the same colors and fabrics. He needs to know what changed and what’s still there from the Merlin he remembers.

“I’ll write his address too, then. Will works at home, but if you go by around six, Merlin should be there too.” She glances at the clock. “You could get there in time to see him tonight, if you wanted to.”

Destiny is definitely on his side.

*

He’s back in London by five, just in time to get a text from Morgana telling him to bring her car back ‘IMMEDIATELY’, and he glares at his phone but complies. He’s got time to take the tube to Merlin’s flat- Merlin _and Will’s_ flat- if she’s going to be all pissy about needing her car to go to some important social function that he doesn’t remember her telling him about even if she insists she did. There’s no real anger there, though, just playful sibling annoyance, and she kisses his cheek and wishes him luck before driving off.

He walks to the nearest station, the slip of paper with Merlin’s phone number and address nestled safely in his pocket- the information also programmed into his phone, just in case. It takes him a bit to figure out what line to take- even before they moved, he hadn’t spent a lot of time in London, and isn’t too knowledgeable about the underground. After pouring over a map for five minutes, he finally works out where he needs to get and how to get there, and purchases a ticket with some notes Morgana gave him for the day (because she is a good big sister who didn’t want him to end up stranded and helpless with only American money).

He finds a seat when he’s on the train, pulling the slip of paper out of his pocket to stare down at the letters and numbers, trying to calm his anxiety. He’s on his way to see Merlin, who might not be what he remembers, or who might not even care to talk to him. He’ll have to talk to Merlin’s boyfriend, who Merlin loves enough to live with, and the two of them might be more perfect together than Arthur and Merlin ever could have hoped to be, and Arthur will have to smile and say he’s so happy for them when all he really wants is for Merlin to be exactly how he used to be and have him fall into his arms and love him, even if he knows it’s beyond ridiculous.

His stomach’s doing flip-flops as the train stops at different stations to pick up more people, and the compartment becomes more and more crowded, but the seat next to him stays empty. When he knows there are three stops left before he has to get off and set about finding Merlin’s flat, someone approaches him with a, “Do you mind if I sit here?”

He glances up just enough to see a jacket that falls to mid-thigh and the frayed ends of a scarf that dangles down. With a quick shake of his head the man sits, and Arthur’s attention returns to Hunith’s handwriting.

“Thanks,” the guy murmurs, keeping his voice low. “I’ll be getting off at the next stop, but the guy I was sitting next to before looked a bit shifty.”

The voice is familiar and Arthur reflexively glances up, and his heartbeat stutters in his chest because those ears and cheekbones and gorgeous blue eyes are unmistakable. He feels paralyzed because Merlin is mere inches away and he wasn’t sure he would even be ready to do this when he got to the flat, let alone _right now_.

Merlin notices him staring and leans back slowly, obviously feeling as though it’s not his lucky day when it comes to encountering creepy men on the tube. “Er, have I got something on my face?”

Arthur can only choke out a weak “Merlin,” desperate for some evidence that this is really happening, but his heart’s beating too fast and making him dizzy and he could be dreaming for all he knows, about to wake up and be extremely pissed off, because it feels too surreal to be true.

Merlin blinks and stares back, eyes moving over his face slowly before venturing a very hesitant “Arthur?” Arthur reaches up, his hands moving of their own accord, to gently brush his fingertips against Merlin’s cheeks. Merlin doesn’t flinch, but slowly grips on to Arthur’s wrists, solidifying their connection as he searches Arthur’s eyes. “Arthur?” he repeats, softer this time.

“Your hair’s longer,” Arthur says in response, unable to keep his thoughts together well enough to explain himself properly. He sifts his fingers through it, enjoying the soft, familiar feel. “You’re… older.”

“You too,” Merlin replies, reaching out to feel the course hair that runs along Arthur’s jaw. “You’ve got a beard. And a mustache.”

“Not always.” Arthur’s hands move to cup Merlin’s face again, and they stay like that, staring, and fifteen years have passed, but the connection between them is definitely still there.

The train slows, and Merlin’s eyes finally break away from Arthur’s. “This is where I get off,” he mumbles, but his hands tighten around Arthur’s forearms. Arthur looks around, his eyebrows pulling together as he frowns.

“But… no, it’s two more stops.” He picks up the paper that had fallen to his lap, showing it to Merlin as he asks, “isn’t it?”

Merlin takes the paper, his eyebrows shooting upwards. “You were coming to find me?” he asks, and Arthur only nods. Merlin looks over as the train doors open, standing and tugging Arthur with him. “We should talk.”

Arthur’s content to follow Merlin anywhere at this point, as long as he gets to keep staring at him. Merlin is handsome and beautiful and countless other complimentary words, everything Arthur remembers and more. Merlin keeps glancing over at him as they walk, as if he’s worrying that he’s imagining it and any second he’ll realize Arthur was never there. He finally reaches over, taking Arthur’s hand, and they travel the rest of the way to his flat with laced fingers.

“This is it,” Merlin mutters as he unlocks the door, welcoming Arthur into the flat. “Sorry about the mess.”

It’s not messy so much as it’s not really put together, while Arthur had imagined Merlin’s flat would seem cozy and lived-in. “Where’s Will?” he finds himself asking, terribly anxious about having to meet the man.

Merlin eyes him suspiciously. “Who told you about Will? Where’d you get that paper?” he questions, caught between worried confusion and just not caring because Arthur’s standing three feet from him and what could possibly matter more than that right now?

“It was from Hunith. I told her I wanted to surprise you.” He chuckles, shrugging. “Surprise.”

“No shit.” Merlin sits on one end of a couch, which Arthur thinks looks rather worn, but joins him anyway when Merlin nods towards the cushion next to him. It’s silent for a while before Merlin sighs and looks up at Arthur with pleading eyes. “I wrote to you, I _swear_. I wrote so many letters, I honestly _wanted_ to make it work with you. I promise you, Arthur.”

Arthur holds his hands up to stop Merlin’s desperate flow of words, shaking his head. “Merlin, I know.”

Merlin’s expression shifts back to suspicious, almost angry. “But you always said-”

“I found the letters last week.” He sucks in a deep breath, clasping his hands together. The hurt and fury still cut fresh every time he thinks about it. “Uther took them. Hid them away before I ever saw them.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, rightfully incredulous. “I could kill him,” he whispers, and Arthur can definitely sympathize with the feeling.

“No need,” he replies simply. “How do you think I found them?”

Merlin blinks, biting his lip nervously. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he mumbles, but Arthur waves it off.

“Don’t be. It was unforgivable, what he did.” He pauses. “I read them all. The letters, I mean. That’s why I came. I wish… I should have come as soon as I could. I shouldn’t have believed you’d do that to me.” He wants to reach out and touch Merlin’s arm, or establish any form of physical contact, really, but he’s once again blocked by the boyfriend he has yet to see. “But you’re doing alright, yeah? With Will?”

“We broke up last week,” Merlin states bluntly, not meeting Arthur’s gaze. “Well, we weren’t doing so well for a while before then, but I moved out last week.” It explains why Hunith gave him a different address, and why the flat doesn’t look settled in.

“Your mum doesn’t know?”

“I haven’t talked to her recently. I was gonna tell her,” he insists, and Arthur finally works up the courage to rest his hand on Merlin’s knee. He is so much luckier than he thought he would be and Merlin is _here_ and _single_ and _bloody gorgeous_. He resists trying to jump him already, because even he knows that would be grossly inappropriate, though if destiny decides otherwise, he doesn’t plan to object. “I honestly can’t believe you’re here.”

“I know what you mean. I thought I would have to wait for days for Leon’s guy to find your address.” Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur offers a guilty smile. “Morgana’s boyfriend, he’s a policemen.”

“You were going to have me tracked down by the police?”

“If I had to. I was more than a little desperate.”

Merlin stares at him, finally breaking into laughter. “You haven’t changed at all, have you?”

They laugh together, and it’s so easy, like no time ever passed and they’re still in Merlin’s room in Hunith’s home, joking and tickling and catching each other’s lips in gentle kisses whenever they please. Arthur wants to do that now, just lean forward and feel those lips against his, but something tells him _not yet_. “So what about you? How have you changed?”

“I haven’t, really. I’ve got a career now, of course. Teaching.”

“Of course you’re a teacher.”

“Oi!” Merlin laughs, smacking his arm lightly in the playful way he always did. “What about you? I bet you became a lawyer, or something.” He snorts when Arthur blushes. “You did! Of course you would decide to argue for a living.”

“I’ll have you know I’m brilliant at what I do. What subject do you teach?” he wonders, wanting to keep Merlin talking. He missed that voice.

“Chemistry, and sometimes physics. I turned into a science nerd at uni. I like getting to pass that on, when I can.”

“You were always a nerd.” He manages to dodge the slap, but enjoys the grin Merlin gives him. “What else?”

“Hmm. I still date prats, though none as handsome as you.” He keeps smiling to show he’s joking- mostly. It softens after a moment, the fondness still present in his eyes. “I missed you, Arthur. Missed this.”

“Me, too. I’m thinking I’ll stick around for a while,” Arthur admits. “If you’d want me to, that is. Wouldn’t be much point if I didn’t get to see you.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to blush, and he slowly moves closer until his thigh touches Arthur’s. “I want you to. Sounds brilliant, actually.” He smiles, somewhat shy, and the invitation’s clear.

“I thought so,” Arthur agrees, managing a playful smugness before dipping his head until their lips finally meet. It starts slow and hesitant, both men trying to reconcile their memories with how it is now, but steadily grows into something eager and needy, gripping each other’s hair and clothes and whatever will pull them closer together. They’re panting softly when they finally separate, their hearts racing, still staying close to share quick, chaste pecks. “I know you’re kind of on the rebound right now, but when you’re ready… I’d like to take you to dinner, maybe. And hang around as much as possible until then. Get to know you again… be part of your life again, however I can.”

Merlin smiles in the way that always took Arthur’s breath away, from the very moment they met. “Okay,” he agrees simply, and his arms wrap around Arthur’s neck as he pulls him back in for more.

***

_One year later._

“Here we are.”

Merlin perks up, excited to finally have his curiosity satisfied after his dozen or so ‘Where are we going?’s went unanswered. His eyebrows pull together in confusion when Arthur pulls the car into a familiar driveway.

“It’s the house we looked at a few weeks ago,” he states, his eyes shooting wide as it dawns on him. “You bought it?!” he asks, excited. It had been his favorite of the flats Arthur had considered, though he had thought his boyfriend seemed unsure when they walked through it.

“I did,” the blonde confirms, climbing out of the car and using his new key to let himself into the flat. Merlin follows, giddy as he looks around the empty walls.

“Morgana and Leon will be happy to finally get you out of their flat, I’m sure,” he notes, and Arthur huffs indignantly.

“Morgana will be crushed when she finds out. She loves having me around.”

“She threw a stiletto at you last week,” Merlin reminds him, eyeing the still present bruise on Arthur’s forehead and receiving an eye roll in return.

“Yes, well, she’s a bit of a witch. It’s not like I’m not at yours all the time, anyway.” It’s true- most of Arthur’s belongings are cramped in Merlin’s flat, where he spends more nights than not. “Doesn’t mean she won’t miss me.”

Merlin grins, taking Arthur’s hand and squeezing. “What made you choose this one, Arthur? I thought you liked that other place more.”

“You liked this one.”

“It doesn’t matter which one I liked, it’s _your_ flat,” he points out with a laugh, pausing when he sees the sly way Arthur’s smiling at him. He doesn’t want to assume in case he’s wrong, but Arthur doesn’t leave him wondering for long.

“It’s too big for just me. But for both of us… I think it’d be the perfect size to share, don’t you?” Merlin blinks, more than willing when Arthur steps closer to wrap his arms around him. “Well?”

“Yeah,” he finally answers, surprised and quiet but completely thrilled. “It’s… You really mean it?”

“Of course.” Arthur kisses his hair, nuzzling his face into it the way he did when they were teenagers, and still loves to do now. “Come on, let’s look around. We’ve got a new perspective on the place now.” He takes Merlin’s hand, leading the way. “Our kitchen,” he announces, just for the sake of being able to call it _theirs_. Merlin makes a noise that resembles a squeak, and Arthur guesses he likes it just as much.

“I still love these countertops,” he says softly, turning to run his fingers over the dark, shiny granite. Arthur stands behind him, wrapping his arms snugly around Merlin’s waist. He trails kisses from Merlin’s neck up to his ear, nipping at it and making Merlin shiver.

“I was thinking we could bring in the little table from your place, and put some stools around the island, for company. We’ll need a bigger bed, though.”

“Thinking about the bed already?” Merlin teases, and Arthur grins against his skin.

“We don’t _need_ a bed. What do you say we break in the kitchen?” he suggests, and Merlin turns to him with wide eyes.

“Right now?”

“Unless you have any objections.” Arthur’s learned everything there is to know about Merlin’s sexual desires in their time spent together again, including how much he loves to occasionally switch it up and do something unconventional- like getting fucked against a countertop, for instance.

He readily cooperates, allowing Arthur to strip him down in between hungry kisses, and he grunts when Arthur’s strong hand grips his cock to jerk until he’s hard and begging. He knows from experience that his soft moans and whimpers will eventually have Arthur hard and leaking, but he’s not interested in wasting any time and fondles his lover’s cock as he forces their hips together. Arthur knows he’s still loose from their hook-up a few hours earlier, slicking his fingers up with the lube he brought along in his jeans pocket and starting with working three into Merlin, who groans but takes it readily.

“You planned this?” he accuses, slightly breathless, rubbing his thumb over the head of Arthur’s prick and making him gasp.

“Hoped for it,” Arthur admits, and then they stop talking for a while as Merlin grips the edges of the countertop and wraps his legs around his boyfriend’s bare waist with Arthur helping to support him by holding on to his thighs. Arthur’s cock eases past the tight ring of muscle, slips inside slowly to take it easy on Merlin, but it’s not long at all before Merlin’s rolling his hips as best he can and slurring obscenities while Arthur thrusts as quickly as he can manage at the unfamiliar angle. Merlin’s cock bounces against his stomach, thick and angry red, neglected as both parties need to keep their hands exactly where they are to stay upright. The slap of skin against skin grows louder as Arthur fucks in harder, the skin of Merlin’s thighs turning white under his grip, which he needs to help ground him as the buzz of arousal and excitement over sharing a home with Arthur build up and up and make him lose control.

His head falls back and he lets out a loud groan as he feels Arthur shoot off inside him, and he’s desperate to feel that bliss, hardly giving his lover any time at all to catch his breath before he’s writhing and moaning against him, begging without words for Arthur do please, please _do something_. Arthur gently pulls out and helps Merlin to his feet on the floor, quickly dropping to his knees and wrapping his kiss-swollen lips around Merlin’s cock. He’s sloppy as he works his tongue over Merlin, bobbing his head too eagerly to stimulate his boyfriend with any sense of finesse, but it’s enough because Merlin’s already so hard and wants it so bad and he’s fully ready when his orgasm hits and he has to hang on to the granite again to keep from falling as his knees wobble violently. He screams out, “Yes, fucking hell, _yes_ , Arthur!” and Arthur really does love the sound of Merlin’s moans, and hopes to get one more yes out of him today.

He helps Merlin slide down slowly to join him on the floor, and they sit naked in their kitchen, wrapped in each other’s warm embrace. Arthur presses loving kisses all over Merlin’s face and Merlin just basks in it, thanking whatever higher power is out there that he gets to have this, and that all the pain and waiting paid off.

He feels Arthur’s breath hot against his ear, closing his eyes and relaxing to the low murmur of his voice. “Would it be cliché if I asked you to marry me right now?”

Merlin laughs softly, still feeling light and fuzzy from the sex. “Do you have a ring?” He opens his eyes when Arthur pulls away slightly, watching him dig through his discarded coat for a small, velvet box. Merlin gapes as he reveals the white gold band with small inset diamonds- simple, beautiful, perfect. His eyes meet Arthur’s and he stutters out, “Holy shit, you’re serious.”

Arthur chuckles and Merlin looks back at the ring, blinking when Arthur nudges him. “Well?” he prompts, smiling to hide the nerves rising within him. “This is just a formality, you know. You technically already said yes to me.”

“We were five,” Merlin croaks, but his eyes don’t leave the shining band.

“A mere technicality.” He watches Merlin with increasing anxiety. “I can offer you another biscuit instead, if you’d rather have that. You don’t have to take the ring.”

That seems to break the spell, and Merlin fumbles for it, his shaking hands needing Arthur’s help to slide it onto his finger. It looks like it belongs there, and Arthur feels as if he’s able to breathe again. Merlin finally looks up, nearly tackling Arthur as he climbs into his lap to kiss whatever skin he can reach. “Yes. Yes, yes, of course, yes,” he mumbles, and Arthur laughs, not caring when Merlin practically slobbers on him because he’s just as excited after twenty-five years of wanting this. There’s nothing to get in their way this time, nothing that can compare to what they’ve conquered together, and he can already tell that their love will be the kind to rival the stuff of legends.

**Author's Note:**

> On LJ [here](http://undrsomestairs.livejournal.com/17087.html).


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